Mosquitoes
by Francesca Monterone
Summary: Apparently, Eames isn't the only one who thinks Arthur tastes nice... general murder, hilarity and fluff ensue...


**Title:** Mosquitoes**  
>Fandom:<strong> Inception**  
>Genre:<strong> Humor / Hurt/Comfort**  
>Rating:<strong> M**  
>Pairing:<strong> well, Arthur/Eames, of course...

**Warnings:** _rated M for evil bloodsuckers, excessive violence against insects, cursing and Eames' idea of "kissing it better"_

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><p>To a trained ear, the night is never silent, not even out in the countryside, far beyond the noise and hectic of a city. There is the soft rustling of leaves, the manifold calls of nocturnal animals, the steady murmur of a nearby spring...<br>Darkness wraps them into her soft cloth, rendering them mysterious.

The air was heavy with the scent of honeysuckle and lilac and Eames took a deep breath, enjoying the sweet freshness that the rain had brought. Humidity was still tangible in the air, like a thick fog, causing heavy droplets to form on every leaf and every flower. The damp grass and earth squished softly beneath his feet as he crossed the lawn, walking up to the house.

At the door, he carefully removed his shoes, not wanting to hear any more seven o'clock complaints about muddy footsteps in the hall. The house was quiet and dark. He softly shut the door and hung up his wet coat, then slipped upstairs on tiptoes.

The bedroom door had been left ajar. As he stepped across the threshold, the old wooden floorboards creaked softly beneath his weight. Eames cursed them silently. Arthur was a light sleeper, and he did not appreciate to be woken two hours past midnight. Interrupting his sleep usually rendered him exceedingly grumpy, and Eames preferred his lover sweet and tender, thank you very much.

He listened, holding his breath, but heard nothing, so he assumed that he was safe for now.

He bent to take off his socks, then pants and slid out of his shirt, leaving them in a pile at the foot of the bed. Arthur would undoubtedly complain about that, but given the choice between being woken up by Eames bustling around in their bedroom at two o'clock and a bit of disorder in his otherwise tidy life, he _did_ prefer the latter.

Eames yawned, ready to slip under the covers beside Arthur and go to sleep. He saw no point in putting on a pajama. Pajamas were completely superfluous. The adverse effects of sleeping in your boxer shorts – or naked – had yet to be proven to him, and anyways, wearing pajamas only produced unnecessary laundry. Which was bad for the environment, right?

Obviously, Arthur didn't see it that way, and Eames had to admit that the smooth silk felt nice rubbing against his naked skin.

"Eames."

"Huh...?" Eames started. "I thought you were asleep, darling."

"No," Arthur replied. He sounded groggy... and upset.

"Something the matter?" Eames asked.

Arthur groaned. "Turn on the light."

Slightly perplexed, Eames reached for the light-switch. With a soft hiss, the lamps on both sides of the bed went ablaze, bathing the room in bright, golden light. Eames instinctively shielded his eyes and blinked a couple of times before he was able to see clearly.

What he saw, were the remnants of a massacre.

Blood was splattered on all four walls of the room, _and_ the ceiling, the darker spots clearly visible against the whitewashed walls. Some of the victims had been crushed, their squished limps still clinging to the bloody spots, while others had apparently dropped to the floor.

Eames whistled softly. "My, my... you had quite a night, didn't you darling?" He turned to face Arthur, who was lying on his back, his lean body stretched out in the middle of the bed, the covers drawn up to his chest.

"Fucking mosquitoes," he grumbled. "They kept me up all night, the little beasts. Every time I thought I'd killed them all and was ready to drift off again, I heard another one. That awful noise. Srrrrrrr. And before you ask, yes the window was closed. I have no idea how they got in, or why there were so many. I could have sworn they were immortal, or rose from the dead as soon as I turned the light back off. I killed the last one about half an hour ago."

"Ouch," Eames said sympathetically. "It's the rain, I guess. It drew them out of their swampy hidy-holes and now they're out for blood. Yours, from the looks of it."

"Well, I'm not ready to share," Arthur replied irritably.

Eames glanced back at the walls. "How many did you kill, a hundred? It looks like a bloody battlefield!"

"Twenty-four," Arthur replied between clenched teeth. "And some of them several times over. Number nine was particularly resistant, I hit it three times, and every time I could have sworn it was dead, but it always came back. It was like Night of the Living Dead, the mosquito version."

"Whew, darling, you're a mass murderer! I'm living with the Adolf Hitler of mosquitoes!"

"It's not funny, Eames," Arthur snapped, glaring at him from heavy-lidded eyes. "I hardly got any sleep, because I spent the entire fucking night chasing those bloodsucking monsters! And they bit me."

"Awww... poor baby." Eames sat down on the bed, ready to pet him, but Arthur turned away. Okay, so he was seriously upset now... Eames looked at the blood on the wall, the dead mosquitoes and his pouting lover and tried his very best not to find the situation absurdly amusing.

"C'mere." He reached out to draw Arthur into his arms. Arthur struggled at first, but then gave up, sagging against him exhausted and annoyed.

"I hate mosquitoes," he muttered, burying his face against Eames' broad chest.

"Mhm, who doesn't." Eames gently rubbed his back. Arthur smelled nice, like a nightly shower and expensive aftershave, mingled with a warm, earthy smell that was purely his. Maybe the mosquitoes had thought so too, and in that case, Eames could hardly blame them for wanting a piece of this delicious human. Which didn't mean that he forgave them for hurting his darling.

He saw the bites now, swollen and reddish against Arthur's pale skin. Bloody little vampires...

They covered not only his hands and what little of his arms Eames could see beneath the long-sleeved pajama top, but there was also one on his temple and even on his neck. He felt certain that they had to itch as hell, and it was probably only Arthur's rigid self-discipline that kept him from scratching like crazy.

Now _that_ would not do. He couldn't leave poor Arthur in this terrible state.

"My Mum used to kiss them better when I was a little child," he murmured softly, lips close to Arthur's ear, before he moved them too his temple. Slowly, he moved from spot to spot, tenderly covering every inch of tortured skin in kisses. He felt the tension seep out of Arthur's limbs as he started to relax, his body growing warmer and heavier against him. Eames gently lowered him onto the bed, until Arthur lay once again on his back, eyes closed and long, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Silent and solemnly, Eames began to unbutton the silken pajama shirt, enjoying the feeling of the soft fabric, and the warm body beneath it. He followed the path that his fingers took with his lips, having covered all the mosquito bites by now, but not wishing to stop.

"I'm sure your Mum never kissed you like that," Arthur muttered.

"Are you, darling? We were a very liberal family, you know…" Eames teased, gently pushing the now fully opened shirt aside, as he ran his hands over Arthur's chest and stomach. Arthur gave a soft sigh of contentment, apparently having decided not to pursue the subject of his lover's mother and her educational methods. He stretched, reminding Eames of a large, happy cat that was about to start purring. He smiled. _Well, anything for you, pet…_

The mosquitoes were fully forgotten by the time Eames had fully divested Arthur of his clothing and was lavishing his loving attention on his lovers cock, nibbling and teasing and grazing the tender skin playfully with his teeth. If Arthur's moans were anything to go by, he quite enjoyed the treatment, so Eames was surprised and more than a little put out when Arthur smacked him in the face. Okay, so maybe he had bit down just a little too hard, but that was no reason for physical violence, was it?

"Hey!" He protested, looking up at Arthur, his eyes narrowing. "Now that was uncalled for…!"

"Sorry… mosquito," Arthur panted.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious. It was about to bite you."

"Huh. Well, I guess then it's alright. Make sure to mark the little bastard as number twenty-five on your list, gotta keep up with the body count, right? But next time, warn me please…? In your own interest…"

Arthur nodded, not bothering to speak. His face was flushed and his breathing slightly uneven.

A slow, devious smile spread over Eames' face. He moved his lips back to Arthur's swollen cock, gently circling its head with his tongue. "Ah…" Arthur's body twitched, muscles tensing in a lustful spasm. Eames' smile widened.

It is not fully impossible that more mosquitoes turned up in search of a late-night snack, but in any case, Arthur did not notice them. The body count therefore stopped at twenty-five, and when Arthur woke up without remembering having fallen asleep, mosquitoes were _not_ the first thing on his mind. He stretched and yawned, feeling a pleasant laziness that kept him from getting up just yet, and slowly opened his eyes.

Eames was sitting in the armchair by the window, only half-dressed in a pair of jeans and an open white shirt, with his naked feet on the carpet, bending over a notepad as he busily jotted down… something.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, perplexed.

Eames looked up, his eyes lighting up with that very special smile he only reserved for Arthur and moments like this. "Good morning, darling," he replied evenly, "did you sleep well?"

"Yes, but why are you up before me…?"

Eames grinned. "Let's just say, my night wasn't half as busy as yours. And in answer to your earlier question: I'm writing a list."

"On what…?"

"Things we need to buy… paint, paintbrushes, plastic tarp to cover the furniture, insect screens and several liters of mosquito repellant… oh, and we could get some of those candles, they're pretty neat. They even smell nice – well, if you're not a mosquito, that is. Anything else?" He looked over at Arthur questioningly.

Arthur looked back at him and felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of affection. He got up, climbed out of the bed and walked across the room. Bending slightly, he put an arm around Eames and leant in to kiss him.

"Yes. I love you."

"Oh… that's nice." There was that smile again. "I won't put that on the list, though. The sales clerk might get jealous."

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><p><em>Inspired by a vicious mosquito attack last night... evil little monsters! By the way, number nine was indeed the most resistant one...<em>

_I want at least one review for every dead mosquito since I don't have Eames to kiss it better…! __Think you can manage that…? ;)_

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><p><em>BODY COUNT: Mosquito number one goes to <em>Blackrose197666_, number two is for you, _Gunnr, _and the third one is yours, _sasukesmyemo394_. Number four is for _Nobody297SRS_, five is a gift to _Beth Louise_, six belongs to _Sugarplum Fairy_ and _Ar-Ru-Vista-frelia-frame_ gets number seven. Thank you for those lovely reviews!_


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